


Nefarious

by melian225



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 13:30:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14498007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melian225/pseuds/melian225
Summary: There’s a storm brewing, the moon is full and there’s a werewolf on the loose. Just what Draco and Luna need for a nice quiet night in …





	Nefarious

_Crack!_ A bolt of lightning split the sky and the accompanying thunderclap made Draco almost jump through his skin. He looked around guiltily but there were no witnesses to his moment of weakness – Luna wasn’t due for another hour or so and Goyle had gone home earlier in the afternoon, and fortunately the house elf wasn’t in the room. Even to a servant, Draco didn’t like showing his failings.

Thunderstorms always made him uneasy. He couldn’t explain why but they just unnerved him. His mother had once suggested it might have been linked to the lightning bolt scar on Harry Potter’s head, the one that identified him even when he was trying to go incognito, but Draco didn’t give any credit to that theory. That would mean Potter had some kind of power over him and he would never accept that.

In fact, it was strange that he’d ended up with Luna, of all people, when she had been one of Potter’s friends. But he had been drawn to her in a way he again could not explain. When she’d been held captive in his father’s cellar, back in the time before Voldemort fell, he would go and see her when he was home from school, letting her out for a few hours at a time when he was sure no one would find out, showing her around the manor and gardens and letting himself get lost in that ethereal voice, even if half the time he didn’t really know what she was talking about. It had been a strange process but somehow they seemed to match, with her optimism and hope acting as a temper to his cynicism and despair, and he had been amazed by the sense of loss he had felt when Potter, Weasley and Granger had taken her away. He only wished he had found her the year before, when he had been under Voldemort’s control in the Dumbledore murder attempt, because he knew she would have been able to get him through that trauma as well. Much better than Pansy had, in any case – he still grimaced when he thought of her, and how he had almost grown attached to her. That had nearly been a horrible mistake.

 _Crack!_ Another thunderclap, and Draco started again. He hurried to close the curtains and turn on the lamps, not wanting to see any more lightning bolts. Where was the house elf? He should have lit the fire long ago, it was starting to get cold and the storm meant the light outside had faded fast. Draco shivered involuntarily and pulled his cloak tighter around himself. Something boded ill this night, he was sure of it.

“Incendio,” he muttered, pointing his wand at the fireplace. Soon enough he had a roaring blaze in the grate, which managed to partially dissipate the sense of dread that was building in him. He wanted to send an owl to Luna to ask her to come earlier, but he knew that she would be there as soon as she could anyway so it would be pointless. However, he couldn’t stop the unease that was gripping him in this dark room, punctuated only by the sounds of the storm and the creaking of the ancient house around him.

Why had he bought this house anyway, he wondered. He didn’t need anything this big, this grand, and he knew Luna didn’t care for it very much. But there was still enough Malfoy in him to want the very best, even if it was not yet necessary – one day the house would be filled with children and laughter, and then it wouldn’t seem so big. Now, however, when it was just him and the old house elf he’d inherited from Aunt Bella, he did feel it could sometimes be too ostentatious for a lad of twenty. Especially now, when the wild weather outside exaggerated all the creaks and other sounds the house seemed to make on its own.

For want of anything better to do, he picked up the newspaper lying on the floor near the fireplace, then almost tossed it aside again in disgust. This was dated almost four weeks ago, he thought, why was it still lying around in the first place? He really should have a word to that house elf. Scowling, he flicked through its pages, looking for anything that would distract him from the chill in the air that the fire still hadn’t taken away.

His eyes paused at a headline a couple of pages in – _Werewolf attack in Shropshire, Tarazed suspected_ – and he shivered again. Tarazed. The very name struck fear into the hearts of all the wizarding world, his exploits earning him an even more sinister reputation than Greyback had had in his final years. Tarazed, the self-appointed leader of the werewolves and chief seeker of revenge on those who had wronged Greyback and Voldemort, who had been marauding the countryside in the two years since the battle extracting payback for what he saw as crimes against what was right. Tarazed, who had killed Narcissa Malfoy in what had initially looked like a random attack only four months ago.

Tarazed was feared especially due to his reputation for being unnecessarily violent, usually ripping body parts off his victims (and occasionally leaving them alive and bleeding to death), and his intent was generally to kill rather than convert. He was the very worst of those who were left of Greyback’s band, one of those werewolves who had so taken to the taste of blood that even as a human he was a menace, believing it was his divine right to take the lives of innocents and anyone he thought had wronged him, and like Greyback before him he was known to be in the habit of stationing himself near his prey when the full moon was approaching, to ensure he got the victims he sought.

Draco wracked his brains but couldn’t think of whether or not Tarazed had been apprehended after those attacks during the last full moon. What were those Ministry officials doing, he wondered. Surely it wouldn’t be hard to try to anticipate where he might strike next, you just had to find all the former Death Eaters and those who had fought in the Battle of Hogwarts and put a guard around them. No matter how much the general community raved about how Potter had revolutionised the Aurors’ Office in the last couple of years, Draco could still think of ways the service was sorely lacking, and this was obviously one of them.

He froze suddenly. Tarazed attacked former Death Eaters … and he fit that description. He even had the Dark Mark tattooed on his arm, an unwelcome reminder of those days when he had been ordered to kill Dumbledore in order to save his parents’ lives. His mother had already been killed …

He shook his head, disgusted at himself. He was being melodramatic, undoubtedly brought on by the effect the storm was having on him. It was ridiculous to think he would be next on Tarazed’s list, not when people far more crucial to the defeat of Voldemort – Potter himself, for example, along with Weasley and Granger – were still on the loose. It probably wasn’t even a full moon tonight. And even Luna would be more of a target than he was, he realised suddenly, from her role in the final battle. Feeling almost ashamed of his own fears, he threw the old newspaper into the fire and watched with triumph as it burned to ashes.

His feeling of satisfaction was interrupted by the doorbell. Good, he thought, Luna’s here. She would erase these ridiculous fears from his heart, she was always able to cheer him up no matter how down he’d been. He sat forward eagerly in his chair, waiting for the door to open and the house elf to usher her in.

This time, however, nothing. After a minute or so the doorbell rang again, and Draco decided to get up to answer it himself. Shaking his head at the unreliability of Aunt Bella’s old elf, he made his way through the ancient hallways and downstairs to the front door. After fiddling with the locks and wresting it open, his pale face broke into a wide smile.

“Luna!”

“Draco,” she said in that other-worldly way she had, smiling at him and looking completely unperturbed that she was soaked to the skin. “What happened? Why did it take so long?”

He shrugged as he wrapped his arms around her. “I have no idea where Mitty’s got to,” he admitted, pulling away as he got out his wand to dry her off with a hot air charm as the door blew shut behind her. “The fires haven’t been lit, the curtains haven’t been drawn, and I’m willing to bet that supper hasn’t been started. If he keeps this up I’ve got half a mind to threaten him with clothes.”

Luna grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “Oh, don’t do that,” she protested. “I’m sure he’s just fighting off the Heliopaths in your fireplace. I’ve warned you about those before.”

Draco smiled as he let go of her hand and pulled her towards him, his hand quickly and automatically finding her breast and his mouth fixing on hers. He had long been trying to wean her off her deeply held beliefs of unknown creatures that her father had propagated in her from such a young age, but some just refused to budge, and she was convinced he had a nest of Heliopaths in the kitchen fire. It was one reason she refused to use the Floo network to get to the house, preferring to Apparate and then knock on the door, no matter how bad the weather.

She returned his kiss and let his hands briefly explore her body, and then grabbed one and started leading him through the house, seemingly not paying any attention to where she was going. He knew though that she had a definite purpose in mind – just because she seemed to have shown up somewhere completely by accident didn’t by any account mean she actually did. As always he was captivated by her dreamlike way of moving, letting himself be led without thought of the direction or outcome.

Suddenly, however, halfway down the stairs on the way to the kitchen, she stopped dead, a look of horror on her face. Looking down at their feet to what she was staring at, Draco stopped too – the ageing house elf, who he had just been complaining about, lay dead on the third stair, his head ripped cruelly and brutally from his shoulders. What was left of the body was mangled, as though it had been mauled by a wild animal.

Luna clutched at him instinctively. “Oh, Draco,” she breathed. “What happened?”

He turned her towards him to shield her from the sight before them, pulling her head to his chest. “I don’t know,” he said, his face going even paler than usual. “I don’t know.”

Several things were rushing through his mind. One was to get Luna off that staircase as soon as possible, so she wouldn’t be exposed any more to what was left of poor Mitty. Another was that it would have to be him who cleaned up the mess, and he didn’t relish that as an idea at all. And yet another was that it looked like they would have to eat out tonight, but he thought he’d bring that particular idea up later. He might be somewhat callous and cynical, but he had enough heart to realise what was and was not a good time for things like that.

The key thing he was thinking, though, was that whatever had done that to Mitty was probably still in the house. And that would definitely have to be dealt with.

Grabbing Luna around the waist, he steered her upstairs and back to the front door. “I don’t think you should be in here,” he said, hoping his voice didn’t belie how worried he was. “Whatever did that could still be around.”

She whirled around to look at him, hurt and anger in her eyes. “I’m not running away,” she said sternly, the dreamlike quality to her voice disappearing abruptly. “I know how to fight and I’m not leaving you alone.”

“But you could get hurt,” he protested feebly, knowing there was no arguing with her when she was like this.

“And so could you,” she said, her voice becoming somewhat ethereal again. “Got your wand out? Good. Now come on, let’s see if we can find it.”

Draco shook his head in wonderment. So much for trying to shield her, he realised, but then again Luna had never been the type to shrink from a fight. He’d realised that at the Battle of Hogwarts, when she had held her own in more ways than one, impressing not just him with her cool head and quick spellwork and her ability to motivate people who would otherwise have given up.

“All right,” he agreed reluctantly, holding his wand out in front of him and gripping her hand tightly with his other hand. “But I go in first.”

Goyle would never have believed this a few months ago, Draco thought abstractedly. Draco had never been one to seek a battle, always hiding behind his bigger, brawnier friends, but he had come to realise that sometimes it was really up to him and he had learned to find courage in the most unlikely places.

Like Luna.

He led her back downstairs, past the mangled body of Mitty on the staircase and into the kitchen. Something had definitely been here, he realised, seeing the mess of food and broken crockery strewn around the room. A carnivore, and more likely an animal than a human, looking at the blood on the walls and what was left of the house elf. However, whatever had been in there, it was not there any more, so they headed back up the stairs towards the rest of the house.

It was by now very definitely dark outside, and Draco was distracted by the open curtains in the drawing room on the ground floor. That’s right, they hadn’t been drawn as Mitty hadn’t been able to get to them before he’d been attacked. Looking swiftly around him, he entered the room, his senses on edge as he anticipated an attack.

What he saw when he got to the window, however, was more than enough to make him stop dead in terror. The storm had subsided and as he closed the curtains he noticed the clouds parting just enough to reveal a full moon. Pale and sweaty, he turned to face Luna.

“Did you see that?” he murmured, not wanting to speak too loudly in case it just served to advertise their location to whatever was in the house.

“The full moon? Yes, I thought it might be a werewolf,” she said conversationally, nodding her head. “The marks on poor Mitty were a bit of a giveaway, really. Where do you suppose it is?”

He still had trouble getting used to how blasé she was about things that absolutely terrified other people, but he appreciated her calmness. It helped him to calm down as well, and that was always a good thing in a situation like this.

“Well, it’s not here,” he said with more authority than he felt. “Keep quiet a minute, we’ll see if we can hear it.”

They clutched at each other in the dark, listening for any unfamiliar noises that might be caused by an intruder.

“Do you think that’s it?” Luna whispered a moment later, as a rather loud crack sounded from somewhere above their heads.

Draco shook his head. “I think that’s the water heater,” he said. “Does that every night.”

“Right,” Luna murmured. “How about that one?”

Draco stiffened as he heard the creak on the landing outside the door. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “It could be someone …”

They held their breath as one, waiting for something to happen, the door to open, the creak to sound again. But, nothing. After a few seconds they both breathed out simultaneously.

“Do you know who it could be?” Luna asked in only a slightly louder voice.

“Well, obviously it’s not Greyback, because he died in the Battle,” Draco said. “But there are a few of his mates who would love to finish off the Malfoys after we betrayed the Dark Lord. Lesath, Sargas, even …” His voice trailed off as the door did indeed open. Draco stared at the figure illuminated by their wandlight, and the name he had dreaded to say just a moment earlier came to his lips. “Even Tarazed,” he whispered.

There was no mistaking him: the hunched shoulders, the greying fur, the yellowing teeth, the scar across his chest that Kenneth Towler had famously inflicted in a skirmish about six months earlier that Towler had been lucky to escape from with his life. Now Draco thought about it, the attack on Mitty did seem to have the hallmarks of a Tarazed job. This was clearly a deliberate targeting of Draco’s house, and if anyone got in his way as he hunted Draco then they would meet the same fate that Mitty had.

Realising this, Draco had frozen in his tracks but Luna seemed unperturbed. “Tarazed?” she asked, looking at the werewolf. “Is that you?”

Draco came out of his stupor. “He can’t understand you,” he hissed, trying to wrench her away from the approaching beast. “He’s transformed, for fuck’s sake, he doesn’t understand English!” He made a face as he said it – he always tried to watch his language around Luna.

“No, he wouldn’t,” Luna agreed conversationally, ignoring his language and pulling out of his grasp with surprising strength. “But he might understand this … Depulso!” She flicked her wand at the werewolf and it obligingly flew backwards through the open doorway.

Draco looked at her incredulously. “You used a Banishing Charm on a werewolf?”

Luna shrugged, looking remarkably unconcerned. “It’ll give us a bit of extra time to think of something. He can’t use magic on us, just his claws and teeth, so if we can keep him away he can’t hurt us.”

“Good thinking,” Draco said admiringly. “What next?”

“Hmmm,” said Luna abstractedly, as though she wasn’t facing certain death if she got it wrong, “how about a Conjunctivitis Curse?”

“A Leg-Locker would be better,” Draco said, realising that Luna’s unconventional way of thinking was probably a benefit in a situation like this.

She nodded. “Or a full body bind,” she agreed, pointing her wand once more at the beast, which had scrambled to its feet and was bearing down on them at a frightening rate. “Petrificus totalus!” Again she hit her target and the werewolf froze on the spot, its claws just inches from her wand tip, and then toppled to the ground. “That’s better,” she said with a smile. “Shall we call the Aurors, do you think?”

Draco eyed the frozen werewolf uneasily. “How long will he stay like that?”

Luna shrugged unconcernedly again. “Long enough, I should think,” she said. “I can’t think of any times when a full body bind has just worn off, it has to be taken off, so I think we should be safe enough. But we should check there aren’t more, just in case.”

“Then I’m going first,” Draco said authoritatively, pulling her towards him and kissing her gently. “That one got far too close to you for my liking. I’m not letting you get hurt.”

“I won’t get hurt,” she said, her eyes lighting up as she looked up at him. “But if it’s important to you, that’s fine.”

He kissed her again and helped her step over the prone body of Tarazed, which took up much of the drawing room floor. “Okay, keep quiet and follow me.”

She nodded, her wand out defensively as she took his hand, and he led her up the stairs to the first floor, his ears alert to any sound that might possibly be that of another intruder.

They combed the house from top to bottom, but it appeared Tarazed had been alone in his attack plans that night. Through almost every window they could see the full moon, vivid in the sky now the clouds had dispersed, and once they had determined each room was clear Draco made a point of pulling the curtains closed, blocking off that unwelcome reminder of the monster in his drawing room.

“I think it’s safe,” he whispered a little while later, as they came down the stairs to the ground floor again. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was still whispering if the coast was indeed clear but he still felt a little uneasy, if nothing else then by the body of Mitty which was still lying near the bottom of the stairs to the kitchen.

“What do we do with them?” Luna asked, plainly referring to both Tarazed and Mitty.

“Tell the Ministry,” Draco responded, glad to sound authoritative about something. He hated how powerless he had felt during the whole ordeal, how Luna had almost singlehandedly saved them both without him even raising a wand to defend her. “I’ll send an owl.”

“Of course,” she murmured, heading to the first floor sitting room where Draco had been killing time before she arrived. “The Aurors have to be told.”

Draco hesitated as they sat down together on the couch. “Would it be the Aurors or maybe someone from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?” he asked, not really wanting to call on someone like Potter to come to his aid. To tell the truth they were barely on speaking terms and, even with the frozen body of Tarazed in his drawing room as a potential trophy he could glory in, he didn’t want to involve Potter in this at all.

Luna considered that, and Draco was pleased that she didn’t seem to have picked up on why he might want to avoid the Aurors. “I’m not sure who looks after werewolves,” she admitted. “But I’m happy with the Magical Creatures people. We could even get them to have a look at the Heliopaths in your fireplace while they’re here.”

Draco smiled and put an arm around her. “That sounds fine. Now, where is that owl of mine?”

Luna leaned back into his embrace. “I think I saw him upstairs,” she said dreamily. “Though of course he might have found Mitty by now and started snacking … no, that’s not right,” she went on, correcting herself. “Owls don’t eat carrion, Mitty’s quite safe I’m sure.” She turned her head to look at Draco again. “So upstairs, I think.”

Draco nodded, and reluctantly let go of her so he could go to the hallway to summon the owl. “Eurus!” he called, and was rewarded shortly afterwards with the sound of wings flapping and the sight of the tawny bird coming towards him. Taking it into the sitting room, he hurriedly scribbled a note on a scrap of parchment and sent the owl off to the Ministry.

It seemed only minutes later that there was a knock on the door. Reminding himself that he no longer had a house elf to answer it, Draco again let go of Luna and went downstairs to answer it, realising as he reached the door that she had got up to follow him.

It opened to reveal a young man with sandy hair, freckles and a very friendly smile, followed by a number of what looked remarkably like what Draco would have called hired goons. In other words, rather like Goyle. “Hi there,” the stranger said with a grin, extending his hand, “you must be Mr Malfoy. My name’s Scamander, Rolf Scamander, and these here are some Hit Wizards. Now, I understand you have a deceased house elf and a bound werewolf on the premises?”

Draco nodded. “We think it’s Tarazed but I’m not completely sure,” he said, not wanting to sound too proud of what they’d done.

The young man, Scamander, started. “Tarazed, you say?” he gasped, his eyes wide. “Well, we’ll have to have a good look at that. If you’ve managed to capture him you’ve done very well! Where is he?”

“Just in here,” Luna said dreamily from behind Draco’s shoulder, and he turned to see her indicating the drawing room just to their left. “We put him in a full body bind so all you need to do is take it off when you’re ready.”

Draco didn’t like the undisguised admiration and desire on Scamander’s face as he gazed at Luna, and put his arms around her protectively. “The house elf is just at the bottom of the stairs,” he added pointedly, wanting to keep the two of them separate.

Scamander snapped back into himself. “Right. Well, I’ll take a look at the house elf, and this lot can get Tarazed.” He shook his head in wonderment. “I still can’t believe we’ve got him at last … You do know what he’s capable of, I assume?”

“Of course we fucking know,” Draco snapped, just wanting to keep this young man away from Luna. “He killed my mother, for fuck’s sake.”

Scamander started and checked the parchment still in his hand. “Malfoy … of course,” he muttered. “My mistake. Sorry.”

A Hit Wizard came back from the drawing room and looked at Draco. “Yep, it’s definitely Tarazed,” he confirmed, a grin spreading across his face. “We’ve been trying to get hold of him for months. You’re probably looking at an Order of Merlin for this!”

“Whatever,” Draco muttered into Luna’s hair. “Just get them both out of here, okay?”

Scamander disappeared down the stairs and came back up shortly afterwards with a small limp figure covered in hessian. “I’ve got him,” he said, looking slightly revolted at his charge. “That was definitely a werewolf attack, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen one quite so vicious.”

Draco thought Scamander had probably not seen many werewolf attacks at all, seeing he couldn’t have been much older than eighteen, but decided not to say anything. He barely even realised Scamander had continued talking until Luna gave him a squeeze. “And you don’t want to bury him or anything?” the boy asked, ostensibly addressing Draco but his eyes firmly on Luna.

“No, no, just take him away,” Draco said impatiently. “We don’t have anywhere to bury him anyway.”

“Right,” Scamander nodded. “Well, if you need anything else you know where to find me.” He was still gazing at Luna, a broad smile on his face, and all Draco wanted was for him to leave. Permanently.

Fortunately the young man did indeed depart with the remains of the house elf, and four of the Hit Wizards heaved Tarazed onto their shoulders and took him outside as well. Draco felt a sense of absolute relief when they Disapparated from the street, and recognised that not all of it was just because the werewolf and house elf had been taken. If he never saw that Scamander boy again, he would be happy.

He gave Luna a squeeze and felt her still clutching him, though she too looked relieved it was all over and she looked up and smiled at him. “We’re still alive,” she said happily. “We’re not hurt. That’s what’s most important.”

The relief he was feeling began to manifest in a very physical way and he pulled her in for an aggressive kiss, his hands finding their way underneath her robes to the bare skin. Luna never wore a bra and her nipples were tight and hard even before his hands found them, and it was all he could do to not take her then and there. Fortunately she seemed to share his sense of urgency and moved subtly to one side where a window ledge offered some support, her tongue deep inside his mouth and her hands reaching into his pants. Relief-we’re-alive sex was a lot like make-up sex, Draco realised, a material need that just had to be met at a point in time, and he thanked his lucky stars that Luna felt this too as the physical release was just what he needed.

Finally, panting, sweaty, they looked at each other and started laughing, of all things. “So,” said Luna breathlessly, “what do we do now?”

Draco smiled, his fingers running through her hair. “Well,” he said slowly, “I think maybe we should start thinking about where we want to go for supper tonight.”

****

The next morning the headlines of the Daily Prophet blared the story of the night before. Tarazed captured, Malfoy declared hero in capture of nefarious beast, it screamed. In the cold light of day, Draco and Luna thought it all rather amusing.

“Look at this,” Luna said, reading the article. “‘Draco Malfoy, survivor of the Battle of Hogwarts, has again helped British wizardry by achieving the capture of the werewolf Tarazed. Ministry officials have confirmed that the brute, who has now transformed back to human form, was taken into custody last night after being overpowered by Malfoy and partner Luna Lovegood’ – that’s nice, I’m mentioned – ‘in Malfoy’s Kensington home. Sources close to the Minister advise this reporter that an Order of Merlin is likely to be coming Malfoy’s way in the next Dumbledore’s Birthday Honours List.’” She looked at him fondly, her waist-length hair falling over her breasts as he watched her. “I always knew you’d be recognised eventually,” she went on. “Someone as good as you has to be.”

He smiled a little guiltily. “But you did all the work,” he said, uncomfortable at taking the credit. “Anything that comes my way, I’ll share it with you.”

“If you like,” Luna said noncommittally, and he knew that public recognition was the least of her concerns. “That Scamander boy is mentioned too,” she went on, her eyes back on the newspaper. “He did seem nice. But …” she looked up at Draco again, dismay in her eyes, “we’ll have to get him back again. We forgot to tell him about the Heliopaths!”


End file.
